


So This Is Where Forever Ends Up

by SilviaKundera



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-09-11
Updated: 2003-09-11
Packaged: 2017-10-12 19:24:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/128233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilviaKundera/pseuds/SilviaKundera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin and Ethan, but not Justin/Ethan. The One Where They Meet On A Street Corner A Great Deal Later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	So This Is Where Forever Ends Up

It's three years later, when he bumps into Ethan, and all he can think of is, "Hi."

"Hi," Ethan says back, and it's funny how that works -- how there is this person standing there who you kissed sloppily when he had teeth melting bad breath, and fucked, and slept beside until it was like he was just part of _there_ , part of the sheets and pillows, and now you have nothing to tell each other at all, after you used to talk for hours, and you don't even miss him.

Justin had _forgotten_ him, until his bag caught on something (somebody – Ethan's chunky, cheap bracelet) and he was jerked back, and then his shoulder hurt like a bitch.

"Hi," he says, and Ethan laughs.

"We've already said that."

"So we did," Justin hears himself say, and grins, and Ethan grins back, and it's nice.

\--

They get coffee at the diner because that's still where Justin gets his coffee. It's crap, and it's sometimes cold, but it tastes familiar and smells like waking up.

Ethan pours in more cream than usual, and that means he's nervous. Slightly shaky hands, and he smoothes his hair back behind his ears.

"I was just thinking about you. The other day," he says, and it's earnest in that way that no one else can do, no one else Justin has ever met – like it should be a joke, but it isn't, he _means_ it.

"I was -- I saw this movie, and I thought, 'Justin would love this'."

"Let me guess," Justin laughs. "Hard core porn?"

And Ethan smiles, eyes on the rim of his cup. His thumb traces it, and he says something about a blind artist who would paint with his eyes closed and used these stunning, breathtaking colors that made everyone fall in love, like they just couldn't help it, except the film is actually in black and white, so you have to take their word for it.

"So you're doing good," is what Justin says, after a pause. But he's smiling back, shaking his head.

He's not so sure that Ethan ever even knew him at all, but that's more than okay, because the person Ethan thinks he sees seems really sort of beautiful. Justin thinks he would want to meet him. He might even like him.

"Things are _fantastic_ ," Ethan says, and it all spills out, like an avalanche.

The muse and his charcoal hair, and people and all their eyes, and the way they _watch_ him, the notes - even when they're broken - and terms Justin had heard a hundred times and never more than partially understood.

"That's great," Justin says, and it comes out as honest because that's what it is.

They order more coffee, and get into television, radio, the senator Justin hates, the pianist Ethan detests, and the clear irrefutable fact that brown is the new red. They get into Daphne. Justin promises to tell her she's thought of, and he's lying, and it's just _like_ Ethan, to be probably telling the truth. Ethan, who is delicate in a dozen places, tentative and vaguely guilty that his life is so beyond fabulous and Justin's boyfriend still fucks other men.

It's all so harmless, and Justin can't believe he thought this boy hurt him once.

"So are you gonna order, or get the fuck out?" Debbie cackles, pen tapping on paper. Then blinks, bright blue ink line rushing sideways off and onto the back of her hand.

"We'll order," Justin says, smirking, as Ethan says,

"I have to get back."

It's his agent, and the phone was so small that Justin didn't even notice it.

Brief, narrow eyed contact with Debbie, and then Ethan is hovering. Cell clutched up and tight against his collarbone, edging towards the door.

He has an appointment, he says, and his face says it's more like a date, but not really a date, and not actually a boy, and there will be people, and eyes, and everyone's watching, and photographs, and they're all not listening so hard that they might as well be deaf.

It's like Madonna said in that one movie (the one that Emmett is forever repeating and no one else has ever actually seen): his life is calling. And it's maybe not so fabulous after all. It's maybe a little sad.

"Right now?" Justin asks -- because that's what you say, isn't it? -- and knows Ethan will answer yes, knows he's already left in his head.

He's left in Justin's head too -- this vague autumn colored blur that arcs at the end, like the tale of a violin, and that's not meant to mean anything at all but exactly what it is.

"Don't be a stranger," Justin says (and Ethan might have known him if he had let him, if Justin had ever said a single sentence to him that was entirely true), and Ethan agrees, hurriedly ( _'I won't, I won't"_ ).

Shuffle, shuffle, and their knees are knocking into each other. One step forward and one step back, and Ethan mirrors him, painful obvious awkwardness, and he can't help but chuckle at their stupid little dance.

Halfway to the doorway, bus boy skating around their backs, Justin hugs him. Justin kisses his mouth, the very corner of it, and it tastes like he supposes Michael must taste to Brian, if they had this kiss over and over again, a thousand times.

And it's -- it's nice. It's familiar, it's like, 'hey, I know you, you're _someone_.' And they are, they're people, they're real -- that's what they're saying -- and he's just something Justin found when he was searching.

And this was goodbye.


End file.
